Reconciliation
by wywrite
Summary: Hermione returns to the wizarding world after seven years spent as a muggle. Eventually HG/SS, if the characters behave. Not DH compatible--I've rearranged the last battle and its consequences for my convenience.
1. Reconciliation

Disclaimer: The characters and settings all belong to JK Rowling. I'm borrowing them to play for a while.

Chapter 1: Reconciliation

Hermione Granger entered her flat, carefully smoothed and folded her gown over a chair, and deposited her purse in its accustomed place on a nearby table. She stepped out of her shoes, flexing her toes to ease out the kinks that were there from standing for too long in heels too high, and sighed with relief.

Hermione was now a fully-fledged M.D, courtesy of the University of Cambridge, School of Clinical Medicine. When she had deserted the wizarding world for her muggle roots, she had not lost her love of learning nor her meticulous application to study. In three years she had completed a rigorous University training in premedical studies. Now, a mere four years later, she held the degree of Medical Doctor.

She had buried herself in her studies, desperately blocking the pain she felt from the wars—physical and emotional—and also rejecting the magic that still pulsed under the skin in her fingertips. In the first three years she learned to be numb to the magic, and her time spent at Cambridge had been mercifully free from having to check her impulse to open a door with a wand and a word. She rarely thought anymore about how slowly it took to perform day to day tasks without magic. At first, she was grateful for the chores that used up her time and left her physically drained, and now she didn't even notice the extra time.

The strict schedule she kept also left little time for friends. Ever since…then…she had shied away from close contact with her peers. She couldn't bear to be hurt…like that…again. But now she was terribly lonely, and knew it. Still, loneliness she could overlook in favor of books and her classes. _But if I had a friend who could understand,_ she thought, and then stopped thinking. She knew who could understand, and she'd abandoned them.

She shifted on her sore feet, and broke her mind from this line of thought. She moved jerkily to the mail lying on the floor and picked it up. Bills…a sheet of coupons…a letter with eight stamps. Strange. Why eight? It wasn't heavy.

With a gasp that was half laugh and half shock, she recognized the handwriting. Molly Weasley. Hermione threw the letter with the bills back on the floor and ran to the bathroom, her heart beating harder than it should have when she covered the short distance. She turned her shower on and stripped off her clothes, jumping into the stream of water before checking the temperature. She shrieked as it burned her and adjusted it. The shock, however, steadied her and by the time she was clean and dry she was ready to go and collect her letter.

Hermione curled into her reading chair, tucking her bare feet up, and opened the letter.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I don't know if you've heard, but Harry and Ginny are finally getting married this summer. I know you haven't wanted much to do with magic, not since the war and Ron dying, but please consider coming out for the wedding. It would mean worlds to Harry and Ginny. You may stay here at the Burrow, of course; you know you'll always be a daughter to us._

_Molly W._

Hermione grimaced. A daughter to the Weasleys? After running away from the wizarding world and ruthlessly cutting contact with everyone? And she doubted Harry would even want to see her at this point; he'd been left too often—one way or another—by the people he was close to to easily forgive her desertion of him. And Ginny had clearly been hurt the day Hermione left.

She dropped the letter neatly on a book, and made her way to the kitchen, chewing the message over in her mind. She'd already burned that bridge. Of course she wouldn't go. Would she? _Why not_, whispered a voice, _Nothing there can hurt you now. Not any worse, anyway. You don't have to use magic…_

_Except to get there_, she thought wryly, _but the only potential for harm there is to myself. Oh well, I don't have to decide today._

Hermione picked up a book to read, and headed for her bed.

OOOOOOO

"D'you suppose she'll come?" Harry said? "It's been seven years now, but knowing how she feels responsible for…well, you know what I mean. And then leaving, even when I knew she wanted to stay for, for everyone. I'm sure she thinks I hate her."

"If you think that, just owl her yourself," replied Ginny calmly, "It's time she realized she's not responsible for Ron's death or any of the others. If she doesn't want to use her magic, fine, but not because she thinks she's going hurt anyone. And she shouldn't have left without telling you, at least." Ginny, truthfully, had been more hurt than Harry when Hermione had packed her trunks and left. She had come into the Gryffindor common room and announced that she was leaving. Permanently. She had said she'd write when she could, but she didn't write. The first Christmas Ginny thought about sending Hermione an owl, but Harry had stopped her, saying Hermione would contact them when she could. If she wasn't writing, it was because she couldn't.

Ginny was still stung at Hermione's selfishness in disappearing, especially while Harry was recovering and desperately needed his friends, but Harry himself felt that he understood. Hermione had always hated hurting anyone, and was terrified when she realized her own power, maybe even desire, to hurt and kill during the war. In fact, it hadn't even surprised him when she'd showed up in the common room with a set face and announced her departure. He'd only hugged her and hoped that she wouldn't be gone too long.

Seven years was too long. Harry wanted her to come back, and even maybe to boss him around a little and explain everything in far more detail than he wanted. He'd made a good life in the last years, but Ron was dead and Hermione was gone, and he needed her to help him come to terms with his own pain.

"I'm going to owl her," Harry said finally, "Seven years is long enough. If she hasn't confronted her demons by now, she ought to."

Ginny smiled to herself a little triumphantly, but then giggled. "I'll bet she's shocked when she sees Hector at her window. I wonder if she keeps owl treats? Hector always has his eye on the treat at the end of the delivery."

OOOOOOO

The kitchen in Hermione's flat was tidy to the point of obsession. Every pan, utensil, and package of food had a right and proper place, and was in it. She had once been messier, but as her medical education had demanded more and more organization, it was easier to learn the habit in everything than just confine it to her work. Her counters, cupboards, and floor were creamy white, which showed every speck of dust. There were no specks. Hermione smiled and found the ingredients for a simple pasta dish, and began to hum as she cooked.

Muggle cooking was the first creative outlet Hermione had discovered she enjoyed tremendously. She had never used her magic to cook during school, so the time food preparation took her was never a burden in her mind. She associated it, in fact, with the chemistry she'd loved in college, and the unpredictability of her results kept her interested. She'd stopped using anything packaged the first year in favor of making everything from scratch. It filled the little empty time she had left from her lessons, and it was satisfying and calming. _Not unlike Potions,_ her uncooperative voice whispered to her, but she didn't listen.

Hermione was startled from her quiet dinner by a tapping at her window. Instinctively she jumped, looking at her door, before the direction of the sound registered. She glanced over to her window and jumped again when she saw a large, dark bird perched precariously on her narrow window ledge, peering in with an outraged expression.

"Sorry," she called at the bird through the glass, "I can't open that window. You'll have come to my bedroom window; it's just the next one over…"

Hastily she walked to her room and threw open the window to admit an indignant owl with a scroll tied to his leg. The owl watched her narrowly while she removed the scroll, and relaxed when she said "wait a moment, and let me get something for you—I don't supposed you'd try pasta. No," as Hector ruffled his feathers irritably, "Oh, hold on, I imagine I'll have something you can eat. But no meat, sorry. I'm a vegetarian."

The owl looked even more outraged, which made Hermione laugh. She came back into the room with a lump of cheese and some crackers, which the owl took with some dignity, and then launched himself out her window into the night.

Hermione smiled as she watched the bird drift out of sight, and then it struck her as strange that after seven years it had seemed so natural to deal with one of the animals of the wizarding world. _After Crookshanks…. _No, she wasn't going to think about Crookshanks.

She shook herself and looked at the little scroll of parchment with some apprehension, but also with a growing sense of excitement. The parchment felt good under her fingers, slightly rougher than her plain white printer paper. And she could smell the ink, faintly, and this brought back more good memories of school, and writing her essays for History of Magic, and the satisfaction of answering a question on her Transfiguration test with precise accuracy.

Hermione smiled again, and opened the scroll.

_Hermione,_

_I'm writing this to personally invite you to Ginny's and my wedding. I know you needed time to escape your demons after Ron died, but hasn't it been long enough? I miss you, and so do the Weasleys. Molly could use a little closure herself, you know… _

_I hope you've had enough time to heal. Please come._

_Harry_

_PS—Ginny sends her love, and hopes Hector didn't peck you for not providing a proper treat._

It was easy to make a decision, really. Hermione had left her friends to deal with her own…demons, as Harry had put it. _She would go to Harry's wedding, even if it meant seeing the Weasleys, and remembering their looks when Ron…._ No, she still couldn't think about Ron. Not yet. But she would have to when she went to the wedding.

Hermione started, realizing what she'd just thought. When_ I go to the wedding. I guess I'll have to deal with this, finally. Maybe now I can, though. Now I can do something when someone is dying in front of me._

With a sigh, Hermione sat down to write Harry and Mrs. Weasley.

OOOOOOO

"She's coming."

"What?" Ginny snapped her head up to look at Harry. "Really? I didn't think she would. Not after seven years. Why does she think she can just show up after seven years?"

"Stop it, Ginny," Harry said flatly, "If you're still angry after seven years, why shouldn't she still be struggling after seven years? I'm just glad she's coming."

"I'm not angry, but it's going to cause upheaval. You know Mum will want to talk with her. She's the only who saw Ron die, and she never even spoke to Mum or Dad. It's our wedding. I want it to be happy, and I don't want Mum crying in her room all night and pretending to be cheerful all day. It'll be awful."

"I think she knows that. She says she's already made a time to talk with Mum and Dad in two weeks in Diagon Alley. She'll talk with them then, and your Mum will have time to grieve before the wedding."

Ginny looked unconvinced.

"Ginny," said Harry gently, "I still have nightmares, and I've come to terms with most things. Hermione still blames herself for Ron's death. The fact she's willing to speak to them means she's trying to do what is right for them and for us. Cut her some slack."

Ginny nodded, walked into Harry's arms and buried her face in his neck. "I don't know what she went through. I don't understand why she left, but I'll try."

Harry smiled into her hair and gathered her closer.

OOOOOOO

Hermione woke up crying, tears running down her face into her pillow.

_The woods. It was dark, only lit by the smoky glow from some of the trees near the castle—and most of the fighting—which were burning. Ron was behind the neighboring tree. She glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye, and then gasped a choking scream as a hex deflected off the tree in front of her and hit her thigh. She tried to keep her balance, and swayed wildly, clutching at branches, but she fell, slowly, hearing her wand break as she landed heavily across a root. Ron leapt to her side, but then, to her confusion, fell back with a shocked look. An eternity passed as she registered the ragged hole in his neck, and the blood flowing out. Then movement returned and she launched herself at the Death Eater who came around the tree. Her unexpected attack caught him off guard, and he tripped; Hermione, with a strength she didn't know she had, flipped him on his back and punched him in the throat, feeling his airway collapse. Frantically, she scrabbled for his wand and ran to Ron. Her hands and voice shook as she tried to perform a basic healing spell. Nothing. Then something just to slow the blood. Nothing. Panicking, she grabbed a handful of Ron's robes and pushed it into the gaping wound. It was soaked immediately. Ron opened his eyes. There was no fear in them, but deep sorrow. With difficulty, he mouthed the words "I love you." And then there was nothing in his eyes at all. As she cried over Ron's body, she was vaguely aware of the gurgled choking of the Death Eater, and when it stopped._

Hermione gagged, and then rolled over just in time to vomit on the floor instead of in the bed. It was always so vivid, so precise. _I can't forget. I want to let it go, but I can't forget. He's bleeding, and the wand fails—I fail. He died because I couldn't stop the bleeding. And I killed the other one with my own hands; it was so easy. I hate myself._

When her breathing steadied, Hermione gingerly climbed out of bed to get the bucket and cleaning supplies. They were in her room. She'd needed them before.

OOOOOOO

Pacing nervously, Hermione considered her wardrobe for the twelfth time. She didn't want to talk to Molly and Arthur Weasley, but she owed it to them, especially when she would be a guest in their house in a month's time. She knew with certainty that she would end up crying, and she at least wanted to make a good impression before she ended up sobbing like a child.

She'd burned her robes when she got accepted to University. Now she had only muggle clothes to wear to The Leaky Cauldron, and she while she didn't want to wear robes, she didn't want to drawn attention to herself, either.

_At least, not more attention than I'll get once I start blubbering._

She chose, at last, a long, plain skirt and a loose blouse gave much the same effect as robes, concealing her figure—_not that I've got much of one_—and rippling gently not unlike her old school uniform. Her skirt was a deep brown and her blouse a golden tan, setting off the gold highlights in her hair (still frizzy, unless she made an effort—but her professors had never cared, so why would she?) and the ivory of her skin. She was pleased that her straight shoulders gave her blouse the same academic look that wizarding robes gave everyone. Satisfied, she turned from the mirror and resumed pacing.

_I've been thinking about this for two weeks. They have a right to know. They had a right to know seven years ago. Maybe if I tell them the nightmares will stop. No. They won't. It doesn't matter, they need to know. They still love me, I think. What have I done to them by not telling them? Stop, I have stop. Just go and tell them. If you can't face them again afterwards, you don't have to go to the wedding._

This thought stopped Hermione's pacing. She was going to the wedding. She didn't know when that decision had become so important, but there wasn't any way she was going to miss it.

_I have to see Harry._

Suddenly the queasiness in her stomach settled, and she turned to the door to leave. She would talk to Molly and Arthur, and it wouldn't be so bad. Well, it would be bad enough, but she had the courage to do it.

OOOOOOO

"Do you think she'll still look the same, dear?" whispered Molly to her husband, as they sat in the Leaky Cauldron.

Arthur looked surprised. "I didn't think about it. She'll be older."

"She'll be underfed and pale from studying inside all day, instead of getting out, if I know her," said Molly. "A muggle doctor. I imagine you'll have plenty of questions for her about that!"

"I won't." said Arthur drily. "After the incident with the stitches, I've had quite enough muggle medicine. I only want to see that she's all right."

Molly nodded slowly, "Yes, but I need to know about Ron, too. I accepted his death years ago, but I need to hear it from her. Maybe it will help her more than me, but I still need to hear it."

Tears glinted in Molly's eyes, and her husband put a hand on her shoulder; at that slight touch, comfort and love flowed between them.

Molly shifted in her seat, and looked over at the door just as a young woman in muggle clothing walked through. Her golden brown hair was windblown and settled slowly back around her stiff, straight shoulders as she glanced around the room. Her gaze stopped on Molly and Arthur, and after a slight hesitation she turned her body full towards them and walked up, a frozen smile on her face.

"Hermione!" Molly jumped up and put her arms around the girl in a motherly hug. The girl jerked, then relaxed and returned the hug, breaking it only once she glanced up and saw Arthur hovering eagerly behind his wife. Hermione released Molly, and took Arthur's hand easily and with a more genuine smile.

"Arthur," she said quietly, "I'm so glad to see you," and was only slightly surprised that it was true. "I'm so pleased to see you both." Hermione looked at Molly and gave her a real smile.

"Sit down, dear. We've ordered tea for the three of us; I hope you don't mind."

Hermione murmured thanks, and no, she didn't mind.

"Tell us about yourself. A muggle doctor! Arthur tells me that takes an extraordinary amount of study, especially in seven years. But study certainly never put you off."

"You know about that?" Hermione asked, drawing back. "I didn't tell anyone…."

"Well, just because you didn't choose to let us know yourself, doesn't mean we didn't care enough to keep tabs on you," Molly responded, affronted.

"Molly," her husband warned, "this is hard enough for Hermione, I think."

Molly had already realized her reaction, and looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. That wasn't fair. We have worried about you, you know, and we wanted some idea that you were all right."

Hermione looked between them slowly. "It wasn't unfair. I'm sorry I left, or, not that I left, but that I didn't keep in touch, especially with you. I thought it would be easier for everyone…." She looked thoughtful.

"Was it?" asked Molly.

"No. Not easier. I can't think why I didn't see it before. Although I'm not sure it was harder, at least for me. I had to go through what I went—am going through. But it must have been worse for you, and everyone. I apologize." Hermione laughed a little bitterly. "I don't suppose a simple apology really makes things right between us, but I am sorry."

"Make it right by telling us about Ron's death," said Molly bluntly. Arthur gave her a sharp look, but Hermione nodded.

"I will," she said, "but let's wait until after tea. I don't want to be interrupted." She paused a little awkwardly. "Tell me about the wedding."

Molly happily chattered about the wedding, and Ginny's dress (cream silk, knee-length, ceremony in the garden, you know) and the cake (four tiers of hazelnut butter cake, with burnt sugar buttercream frosting) and the guests (Auntie Muriel, heaven help us, we'd hoped her doxy fever would keep her bedbound, although I always suspected that her doxy fever was more a matter of convenience…) and the weather (Percy said he'd see if the Ministry would allow us a weather charm—surely for Harry Potter…).

The tea arrived between the cake and the guests, but Hermione, while enjoying the conversation, couldn't eat. She wasn't afraid of telling them, anymore, but the topic still made her sick. If she was going to be sick, better to have less in her stomach.

"I see you're still not eating enough," said Molly with a glance at Hermione's plate, "although you don't look as thin as I expected. You must've learned to eat while studying."

Hermione laughed, "I learned to cook; it's very relaxing, but I rarely have guests over, so if I cook it, I eat it." Her fastidious nature would never allow her to waste food. "But I'm not eating now because I need to tell you about Ron, and I'm afraid I might be sick."

She stopped, wondering if she shouldn't have said that, but Arthur nodded in understanding.

"Tell us now, before you have time to worry more. We're ready," he said calmly.

Haltingly, Hermione began to tell them about the woods, falling and breaking her wand, Ron trying to help her and then…the blood, everywhere. She faltered as she thought of killing the Death Eater. _I felt it crunch. And then the choking._ Her stomach turned. She couldn't bear to tell them. She just told them about trying to heal the wound, and that nothing worked. _I couldn't cast with the other one's wand. I failed._ _No, they don't need to know that._ She told them that he'd told her he loved her and died, and that she'd sat beside his body crying until she had to run again, and then she'd had to fight.

Molly was crying softly when Hermione ran out of words. Arthur was pale, but he looked straight at Hermione, saying, "There was nothing you could have done. Not with a broken wand. And not, I imagine, even with all your new skills as a doctor."

Roughly wiping her own eyes, Hermione agreed, "With what I had to work with there, knowing what I know now, I couldn't have saved him. But if he hadn't been trying to help me…"

"You would've been killed," Molly finished. "We don't blame you, Hermione."

"Thank you," Hermione muttered, and the tears started to run down her face again.

_A/N: This is edited so that the breaks between 'scenes' show up now. I jumped into this feet first and without a flotation device, so please forgive the all my floundering as I continue on..._


	2. To Market

Disclaimer: I'm only playing with the characters and settings, which belong entirely to JK Rowling.

A/N: I'm new to this writing stuff, and I now realize that I should have written several chapters ahead before I posted anything, to give myself plenty of time to play with the characters/scenarios and make sure everything fit together nicely. I apologize in advance for the time I anticipate it is going to take me to update this story.

Chapter 2: To Market

"Mum, I'm going to Harry's wedding whether you think it's a good idea or not. Yes, I know that I didn't want to go back, ever, but I really can't miss. He's a brother to me, even after the last seven years."

_Besides, when I see Harry I'll know if it was worth it: the battles and blood and pain. Ron is dead and Seamus and Lavender—who knew she could fight that way—and Sybill and…._

Hermione sighed as she hung up the telephone. Her parents had been thrilled to have her back for good seven years ago, and hadn't asked too many questions, but they must have realized something was wrong. For the first year Hermione had slept little and eaten little, but she had adamantly insisted that she was fine, just throwing herself into her studies. Looking back, she knew it must have been blindingly obvious that she was suffering about something, and now her mum was not pleased that Hermione was going back, even for a wedding.

_But since I talked to Molly and Arthur about, about Ron, I haven't woken up retching once. _

The nightmares weren't gone, but they were dimmer. Some of the awful panic was gone from them; talking with Molly and Arthur had washed away just a bit of the poison from the wound. Still, the clammy certainty that she had failed somehow persisted.

"Ugh. I need to think about something else," Hermione told herself aloud. "I'm going to a wizarding wedding. I need dress robes. And that means I have to go to London. Again. Diagon Alley."

OOOOOOO

Once she made a decision, Hermione was quick to act. And so, for the second time in as many weeks, Hermione was in the Leaky Cauldron. She walked up to the bar, looking for Tom the barman, and was not disappointed when he came swinging through the doors from the storage room.

Tom looked the young woman over, eyes narrowed. "Miss Granger. I remember you. You were here last week, but it's been years since I've seen you before that." He paused, considering what to ask, and settled on, "What would you like?"

The woman hesitated, then, "I want to get into Diagon Alley."

"You know the way," Tom jerked his head towards the hall.

"I haven't a wand," she replied quietly, not even blinking when he looked up with a startled expression.

"No wand? How…? Never mind. Not my business. I can let you through. Follow me, then."

Hermione followed obediently, and waited while he tapped some bricks and the door into Diagon Alley arranged itself, clinking gently. With a smile of thanks, she walked through the door without hesitation and with a sudden carefree feeling.

_Odd. I've spent so much energy forgetting this, and I thought I had. But I guess I didn't, really._

With every footstep lighter, she walked with purpose towards Madam Malkin's robe shop. The people on the street looked curiously at her, dressed in muggle clothing and hair billowing behind her, snapping and tangling around her elbows in the breeze. She returned their looks unabashedly. She smiled at an old, hunched witch who was minutely examining the powdered dragon claw at an outside stand, and at the two young children who ran giggling from Flourish and Blotts, as the proprietor shouted after them, and then at the mediwitch who was hurrying along next to a gaunt man with one arm swathed in bandages, and which was beginning to ooze a malodorous green liquid. Idly a thought crossed her mind.

_I wonder if a mediwizard would take a muggle-trained doctor as an apprentice? _

Hermione caught her breath at this thought.

_Don't be ridiculous, girl. The physiology of a wizard and muggle are the same, but all the medical procedures are completely different. It would be a waste of their time and of your education._

She refused to think any more such thoughts, and walked more quickly to the shop. She was so intent on not thinking that she was two doors past the entrance before she realized she'd overshot it, and turned back with a grimace to retrace her steps.

OOOOOOO

Severus Snape considered the robes Madam Malkin was showing him. They were adequate for his needs. Plain, close-fitting (brewing did not allow for extra material draping about his person), and relatively potion-resistant, except against Level IV and higher potions with caustic ingredients. He did brew some of those levels, occasionally, but he had a set of All Safety Level (ALS) robes which he rarely used, and which were still amply serviceable.

"I will take two sets, black, and with the long sleeves. Have them charged to the Hogwarts Potions account. Perhaps _this_ time you will remember not to charge them to the general account." Snape spoke in a wearied tone which suggested that perhaps remembering was too great a task for her feeble mind.

Madam Malkin reflected that while Snape's manner had softened considerably in the last five years, he still needed to learn some of the finer points of social etiquette.

"I will be sure this time," she replied. "Is there anything else? I see I have another customer."

"I wish to see your dress robes, but I am capable of choosing for myself. Do not neglect your business."

Snape was turning to the finer robes when he glanced at the door and saw the other customer. He drew in his breath, and stepped behind the tall rack of robes, turning away from her. As he did so he recognized one of his old habits—one that he thought he had broken by now—to keep out of the way of people much as possible. He mentally berated himself for cowardice, but did not move out from behind the robes.

_Granger. But she was supposed to have disappeared, not that I blamed her for that. What's she doing here? I don't want to meet her; I am not in the mood for insincere niceties. She only knows me as the greasy, biased professor who was always sneering at her. Stupid girl, she ought to have realized I had no choice. Better just to slip out when she's being helped._

Hermione, however, was chatting amiably with Madam Malkin right in front of the door, so Snape turned back to the dress robes and tried to be inconspicuous. Still, he couldn't help catching their conversation.

"Hello, my dear, what do you need today?" This from Madam Malkin.

"Dress robes. I've a wedding to attend, and nothing to wear." And then girlish laughter, as though the statement were highly amusing.

_I suppose it is, coming out of the Granger girl's mouth. So Potter's wedding is what brought her back. Well, I suppose that is natural; it is nothing to be curious about._

Still, he kept an ear on the exchange.

OOOOOOO

Madam Malkin looked the girl over. "Hmm. Dark honey hair. Ivory complexion. Hazel eyes. Beautiful shoulders, dear, you should show them off. Compact figure. I have just the thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly at "compact figure," but that was kind enough. Clothed in day to day wear, she gave the impression of being slender, but most dresses revealed a figure that was surprisingly…sturdy. Once a fellow sufferer at school had griped that she oughtn't to have calf muscles like that, seeing as all she did was study. Hermione had pointed out that her study was on the fourth floor of the building, the library on the first, and the lift was on the other end of the building. The fellow sufferer had merely shrugged in a resigned sort of way and moved on to speak of muscle groupings in general.

She was pleased, however, with the dress robes Madam Malkin brought out. She knew immediately that she wanted the green ones, but was easily persuaded to try them on "just to be sure."

She went to the dressing room and put them on. She didn't need to show Madam Malkin, but went out anyway so Madam could see how well she had chosen.

The robes did not have the standard close-fitting neck, but instead had a square neckline, running just beneath her collarbones. The top was tailored and skimmed her body closely, emphasizing what little figure she did have, then fell in a gentle A-line to the floor from her waist. The sleeves were of a filmy material of the same dill green, and hugged her arms to the wrist, where they belled and reached to her knuckles.

"You look lovely, dear," said Madam Malkin in a satisfied voice. It was always good business for her when someone looked like that in her robes. "Be sure to wear your hair up. And no necklace; your neck and shoulders are their own ornament. But you may wear earrings."

Hermione gave her an amused look at this authoritative advice, but she was pleased with the robes and meekly said she'd like to buy them.

At the counter, Hermione realized she hadn't bothered to change money. As she looked at the pound notes in her purse, she growled in irritation.

"I'm so sorry. I'm going to have to go to Gringott's and get some money. Can you hold this for me? I'll be back in an hour."

"Of course, dear. It will be here waiting for you."

OOOOOOO

Snape emerged from amongst the dress robes as soon as Hermione left.

"Picked something out, professor?" Madam Malkin was in quick attendance.

He distractedly handed her a robe of black silk broadcloth; the cut was exactly like his teaching robes. Madam Malkin sighed to herself, but only after she'd turned away. A sale was a sale, after all.

_But he'd look so well in blue. Drat the man, he needs to wear some color. It's no wonder the children call him a bat. Perhaps if I just suggested…_

OOOOOOO

Getting money took Hermione rather less time that she had anticipated. She'd also changed three times as much money as the robes cost—_what was I thinking!?_—and didn't have any idea what to do with it.

Armed with relative wealth and three-quarters of an hour of free time, she wandered slowly through Diagon Alley, peering into windows and not quite looking for familiar faces.

She bought an ice-cream, and stopped at a bench to sit and eat it. She absent-mindedly gazed at the store across from her as she licked at her treat. When she was done, she got up, without thinking too much, and walked into the shop.

She regretted it immediately. The pleasure of the afternoon fled, as she gazed at the stacks upon stacks of slender boxes on the shelves.

_What am I doing here? This is how I failed last time…. This is what I spent seven years forgetting. I can have a new life now. I don't want to come back to this!_

As she stood, frozen with distress, her route of escape vanished. From behind a stack of boxes on a wooden stool stepped an old, grey, man, who, upon seeing her, approached with astonishing rapidity for someone with his appearance of frailty.

"Miss Granger. Fourteen years ago I sold you your wand. Vine and dragon heartstring, splendidly workable. How well I remember it. But now it is broken; you are bereft."

He considered her as she stood, mouth gaping, unable to move.

"You are a different person than you were. Less confidence, deeper, more wisdom—no, a greater opportunity for wisdom. Even had your old wand survived, you wouldn't find it suitable any more. Let me see…."

"But…but…I never told anyone about my wand. I left the night after it was all over. I didn't tell anyone about it until just a week ago."

Ollivander fixed his silvery eyes on her. "I knew when I saw you that you wand was broken and the manner of its demise."

Hermione was not reassured, and looked him squarely in the eye. "I don't want a wand, thank you."

He turned to her sharply. "Not want a wand? Nonsense. Everyone who comes in wants a wand. You just don't know it yourself, yet. Here, try this one."

Hermione hadn't even realized that he'd opened a box and pulled out an ebony-colored wand. She grasped it involuntarily as it was put in her hand. Weakly, she waved it about. Nothing happened.

_Nothing happened. I tried to cast and nothing happened. All that blood. _

Hermione swallowed and thrust the wand back at him. "I don't want a wand. I…I…they won't work for me anymore."

Before Ollivander could protest, she brushed past him and ran out of the shop.

The silvery eyes grew thoughtful, and after a while, the man carefully scanned his shelves and went to get his ladder. He found a particular box, opened it up, examined the contents and smiled. He carried the box down the ladder and set it on the counter.

OOOOOOO

Hermione burst out the door and ran down the street, until the strange looks from the witches and wizards around her made her realize what she was doing. She halted abruptly, quieted her breathing, and lifted her chin. She didn't need a wand, and she didn't need to act like a frightened child. She stalked towards Madam Malkin's shop, threw open the door, and stepped inside, directly into a person moving with equal decision out the door.

"Oof, sorry…"

"Miss Granger," said a low voice cool with irritation, "I see you still have the bad habit of acting without thinking. One would hope that seven years without magic would be sufficient to teach you to watch where you are going, but even that is too great a hope, evidently."

Caught off guard by this unexpected attack, and still somewhat off-balance from her meeting with Ollivander, Hermione spluttered angrily and failed to form a response.

"It appears that your tiresome verbosity has lessened, at least. Good day." Snape walked out the door as he saw Hermione opening her mouth to reply.

Stunned, Hermione glared out the door at Snape's retreating back, and turned to find Madam Malkin fluttering apologetically at her side.

"I'm so sorry, dear. Oh my. And he's really improved so in the past few years. I'm afraid you caught him just after I tried to talk him into buying some blue robes. All that black! So off-putting to the students. He really ought to wear some colors. He was quite rude to me, too, not that that's any comfort to you, no doubt."

"_That_ was an improvement?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Well, no, that was more like he used to be," admitted Madam Malkin wryly. "Generally he's almost nice."

This was difficult for Hermione to swallow. He'd insulted, twitted, terrified, snapped at, and punished her friends and herself for six years, and she'd defended him and his abominable behavior, and then he turned traitor. _No, not traitor. He was a spy caught between lies and half-truths and fear for seventeen years. But he was still a wretched, awful, unfair man, and I'll have to see his "improvement" for myself to believe it. _

"Anyway, dear," continued Madam Malkin, "you'll meet him at the wedding and see for yourself. He isn't charming, you know, but sometimes he can be quite pleasant."

This shocked Hermione further. "You mean _Professor Snape_ is going to be at _Harry's_ wedding?!"

"Oh, yes, dear, they're quite friendly now, although it was bad enough when he was a student. I would expect you to know more about that than me, though?" For the first time, there was a bit of hesitation and doubt in Madam Malkin's face, as though she had just realized there was more to the situation than she imagined. Hermione put on a bland face.

"Well, I have been thoroughly taken up with my studies, and I'm afraid I haven't kept up with everyone as well as I ought. I'm glad to hear they—like—each other better," Hermione said in a voice she hoped didn't sound as strangled to Madam as it did to her own ears. "Now, let me just get those robes…."

OOOOOOO

Hermione collapsed, exhausted, on her couch in her flat and stared blankly at the wall. Seven years was not long enough time for her to imagine Harry considering Professor Snape a good enough friend to invite to his wedding. But, then, she had spent the past seven years not dealing with the events of her last year at Hogwarts.

_Not everyone has the opportunity, aptitude, or inclination to bury the past under seven years worth of non-stop schooling. I guess I _shouldn't_ be surprised that people have…moved on._

Finally she climbed off the couch, picked up her robes—_I shouldn't have thrown them across the chair like that—now I'll have to iron_—and headed to her room.

Her incident at Ollivander's wand shop was already entirely forgotten.


	3. Home Again

Do people put a disclaimer at the beginning of every chapter? Tiresome. However, once again, the characters and recognizable settings do not belong to me, but to JK Rowling. The rest is more or less mine. I won't profit off of any of it, except in personal satisfaction.

Chapter 3: Home Again

Snape sat, ignoring the potion that, bubbling unnoticed, was turning from the (correct) translucent red to a thick brown muck the consistency of burnt chocolate. What had possessed him to hide from the Granger girl in the first place, then allow himself to be drawn into an idiotic discussion over blue robes (insufferable Malkin woman!) and then, in a high bad temper, to unload his frustration in a verbal assault on _her_?

He dropped his head onto the lab counter and groaned. He'd practically terrorized her in school, and he now tried to behave in a way to his old students that, if it was not conciliatory, at least hinted that he was not evil personified. But yesterday he had probably cemented that image in her mind.

And really, she hadn't been a bad student. Over eager? Yes. Too vain of her own knowledge? Yes. But careful, meticulous, exact? If only all his students were so disciplined, he wouldn't have to worry about his teaching lab being destroyed on a daily basis. It was too bad he'd had to hide all appreciation of her skill; he had little doubt that he had killed whatever real interest she had in Potions as a field of study. By the last year he had taught her she followed the book with minute precision, and despite her increasing jealousy over Potter's success _(my success; he was using _my _book_), she had never once deviated from the text_._

_At that point she was just trying to avoid criticism. If she had experimented she would have opened herself up to it. And to be honest, I _would_ have criticized her, but…._

His throat closed as he thought of what she might have achieved in Potions if she had been willing to stray from the conventional path. Then he wrenched his mind back to his work, and took a breath.

The taste of smoke as he inhaled caught his attention, and he jumped up and snatched the cauldron off the fire, not even bothering to find his heat-resistant glove. Cursing and blowing on his burned palm, he gave the cauldron a look that would have sent the most reckless student cowering back, but it was only a cauldron and remained unmoved. Snape found his jar of burn salve and spread some across his palm, watching in relief and satisfaction as the blisters and redness disappeared slowly. He considered the potion (now more like coal than anything else—he was glad he hadn't left his wand in it) and if it was worth gouging out to save the cauldron. Probably; it was his best cauldron. He half-heartedly tried 'scourgify,' but, not unexpectedly, it didn't even knick the potion. With a sigh, he transfigured a nearby brewing rod into a chisel, and got to work.

He worked silently, chipping away, until a resounding knock echoed against his door. Barely pausing in his work, he grabbed his wand and wordlessly opened the door to his visitor.

"Severus, what are you doing down here? Did you know you missed dinner? Again?" Pomona Sprout looked indignant from the doorway. "You can't not eat, you know. You're a growing boy."

Snape smirked up at his mentor briefly, but it faded into a troubled expression, and he went back to glumly chipping at the potion.

"Out with it, Snape."

He looked sourly back up at Pomona.

"If it is not moderately obvious, I have attempted to ruin my best cauldron, and I am now trying to salvage it."

"What, Snapey? When have you ever let a potion get away from you? Something serious must be on your mind. Tell me all about it, or I'll take you out to the garden and sweat it out of you turning the soil over in the pea patch. And all the first years will be out there planting for next fall, so it's a big job."

"Pomona, if you call me that one more time, I am going to slip a potion in your glass at breakfast. It won't be pleasant."

"Oh, good, you'll be at breakfast then. You really can't afford to skip meals all the time," her face relaxed a little, "but really, Severus, what's on your mind?"

He flung the chisel down and swung around to face her. "Nothing of consequence. I ran into Granger—literally—in Madam Malkin's, and managed to verbally belittle her. I believe I suggested she had learned nothing since her student years, and implied that what she knew then was limited."

"Hermione Granger? I thought she'd sworn off magic and run to play muggle. Why's she back?"

Snape flinched and hissed at the older woman, "Considering what promises you held me to those first two years, you're being disgustingly flippant about Granger's…prolonged absence."

"She was never my responsibility, Severus."

"Neither was I."

"Just because I chose to deal with you doesn't mean I'm going to choose to deal with anyone else. You are still quite enough trouble for me, and I'm old and tired and my back hurts. Someone else can take her on, if they are inclined to. And I still want to know why she's back."

Snape favored her with an icy look. "I thought I'd made it clear that we didn't have a polite social chat about our lives."

"Oh, come. You didn't have a chance to listen in? Malkin is always chattering away. Surely she got something out of the girl."

Snape picked up his blunted chisel, examined its rapidly dulling edge, and starting gouging at the potion again. "Pomona, you have no delicacy. Are you really suggesting that I would lower myself to eavesdrop on a personal conversation?"

"Come off it, Snape. You were a spy for seventeen years; of course you eavesdrop. What'd you hear?"

Snape smiled in acknowledged defeat. "She's going to Harry's wedding. I don't know if she is only making an exception for him, or if she has finally stopped having nightmares."

Pomona snorted. "You just said you didn't have a chat about your lives; how do you know what she ran away from."

"I taught her for seven years. She was—is—very intelligent, but she was one of the most tender-hearted creatures I've ever come across in my years of teaching. She ran away because of what she'd seen—or more likely what she'd done."

"Severus! I believe you feel something for her."

"Pity, Sprout, and I assure you that would condemn me in her eyes more than anything else I could feel—but she will never know about it."

"Well, you'll see her at the wedding. You can apologize to her for your temper—if you think it'll do any good—or you can avoid her and likely you'll never see her again. But whatever you decide, don't start forgetting meals again. I don't want to find you in a state of collapse; two of my Venomous Tentaculae are quite attached to you now. It would be disagreeable to try to attach them to someone else."

"Especially for your new victim, Pomona," replied Snape with a grin. "I'll see you at breakfast."

OOOOOOO

Hermione woke up feeling cheerful. Her abrupt shifts of mood still disconcerted her—hadn't she spent most of the week after meeting the Weasleys crying?—but she was thankful that she felt good.

_I know why I feel good…I've made a decision. But I'm doing it again. No, this isn't running away. Everything else was. This is running _back.

On her table were unopened packets containing information on job opportunities, research opportunities, more school opportunities. They had been piling up since before she graduated, but she had put them aside until she had more time to pay proper attention to them. Then she had ignored them when the letter from Molly arrived. She had ignored them after seeing the Weasleys. She was ignoring them now. No, she wasn't. Hermione went out to the kitchen, gathered all the envelopes up, shuffled them into an even neater pile, took them to her filing cabinet and placed them in the back of a drawer.

_I'm taking the summer off. I'm going to Harry and Ginny's wedding, and after that I'm going to face what I ran away from. I'll never be a doctor if, the first time someone under my care dies, I go all to pieces. And that is what will happen. I ought to have known it. I _have_ known it. Only…how am I supposed to go about it? _

She looked around her neat kitchen, vaguely hoping an answer would present itself. She was surprised when a sharp tapping at the window drew her attention.

"What?! Oh! Look, I told you last time I can't open that window. Bedroom."

Harry's owl tipped off the narrow perch and flapped over to Hermione's bedroom, where she ran to open the window.

Hector flew in and landed on her chair, looking annoyed.

"It's not my fault you didn't remember about the window. I'd think you would have," said Hermione amusedly.

Hector glared, but stuck out his leg for her to untie the parchment. She did, and then set it down and bent over a paper bag to rummage for something.

"I was at Diagon Alley recently, and…," she triumphantly held out several small nuggets to the bird, "I bought some owl treats. Even though I wasn't really expecting you. I think."

Taking the treats carefully, Hector eyed the tangle-haired girl with appreciation. He hopped gently on the back of her chair, but made no move to leave.

"Erm… Are you ready to go?" Hermioned asked.

Hector didn't move.

"I guess not..."

Suddenly understanding, she snatched the message and unrolled it.

_Hermione—_

_We're pleased you'll be able to come to our wedding. Even if I don't understand why you left, I know it may not be easy for you; don't think I don't appreciate it. But Dad told me how hard it was for you to talk to them, and how hard it was for them to listen, so if you're really only coming to talk to Harry, come now so you can get it over with before our wedding. Please? You're welcome to stay with Mum and Dad—I already asked._

_Ginny_

Here then was the first part of the answer to her question. She had known instinctively that, if she went to the wedding, she should speak first with the Weasleys; she should also not burden Harry on the day of his wedding with her questions.

She considered Ginny's letter. _She must have worried what would happen if I just showed up. And rightly. But her letter is kind, and she's offered a solution, at least to her problem—and it might help mine, too._

Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards Ginny, and sat down to write her immediately.

_Ginny—_

_Thanks for your note. I _have_ been hoping to talk with Harry—and you, too—about some things. Of course you are right that I shouldn't do this on the day of your wedding. If your Mum and Dad don't mind, I'll come out day after tomorrow._

_Hermione_

_PS—Actually, I don't quite know how I'll arrive. I won't Apparate; I'd prefer to arrive by my own means, but it might not be possible. Do you think there is a way I could get a temporary hook-up to the Floo network?_

Hermione sat back with the note, to Hector's discontent, and considered her travel. She didn't trust magic, and anyway, she hadn't a wand. The trip by bus, with her luggage, was not appealing. The Floo was magic, but she couldn't splinch herself by accident, at least.

_The worst I could do is sneeze on the way, and end up somewhere odd. I guess it's unlikely enough to be safe, though._

Satisfied, she rolled it up, gave Hector another treat and attached the paper to his leg. With a soft hoot, the big bird launched himself out of her window.

OOOOOOO

"Mum!" yelled Ginny, hurrying from her room, "Mum, Hermione's coming day after tomorrow."

She dashed into the kitchen with a grin, where Mrs. Weasley was casually supervising the knives, which were peeling potatoes. The scraped potatoes were dropping themselves into a pot of water boiling on the stove, splashing scalding water everywhere.

"Lovely," said Molly, "Here, skin these onions."

Ginny grimaced, but picked up the onions, muttering a charm to keep her eyes from burning, and began to break off the papery outer skin.

"She needs a Floo connection to get here. Do you think Dad can set it up? He did once before for Harry."

"You'll have to ask him, and he'll have to set it up with the ministry. Put the onions in this pan. I'm glad Hermione is coming. She looked tense when we met her. She needs to get out and have some fun."

Ginny looked skeptical. "Maybe she was tense because she finally got up the nerve to talk to you." She gave her Mum a glance. "You know she wants to talk to Harry and me while she's here. That's why she's coming early; so she can get it over before the wedding. She should have done this years ago; she never should have left. What did she get sorted into Gryffindor for if she was just going to run away when things got rough?"

Mrs. Weasley's eyebrows snapped together. "You can hardly judge her; what would you have done if Harry died in front of you, and there was nothing you could do to help? And things got rough before she ever thought of leaving, if half of what you and Harry say can be trusted."

Ginny looked slightly ashamed, but only shrugged. "I still don't think she should have left. What good did it do her?"

"If she has the courage to come back to us now, then it did plenty of good. She couldn't have stayed in the muggle world forever. I'm just glad she decided to come back before she found out the hard way."

"She's only coming for the wedding. That's not 'back,' Mum."

The older red-headed witch checked the potatoes, and didn't reply for a moment. Then she looked up and said, "Well, she needs to come back."

OOOOOOO

The note said to expect Ginny and Arthur at 2:00 pm. The Floo connection had been approved without a problem.

Hermione considered her clothes and her luggage. If she was going to stay at the Weasley's for a week and a half, then she needed a fair amount of clothing, and then, for her time after that, if she could do what she hoped to…. Her small tote was too small. In fact, her larger bag was probably too small. Neat stacks of clothing sat on her bed and floor, and she mentally arranged and rearranged them in her bags.

Giving up in disgust, Hermione went to her main closet, dragged out her step-ladder, and retrieved her old trunk from her school days. Dusting it off carefully, she opened it and put all the clothes in it, folding her new dress robes delicately over the top. Then she added two more pairs of shoes, silently admonishing herself for unnecessary excess, and closed the lid.

She walked through her flat, straightening photos, putting away items neatly into drawers or baskets, and wiping dust off window sills. Satisfied that everything was in order, she sat down with a book to wait for the Weasleys.

At five minutes til two, Hermione's smallish fireplace began to glow greenly, and she looked up from her book to see Ginny ducking under her mantle into the room. Hermione jumped up from her chair and went to greet her and Arthur, as he maneuvered through the tight space.

Ginny was looking around with careful disinterest, although as Hermione approached she smiled and waved her arm at the tidy room. "I see you learned some organizational skills out in the muggle world. I guess it's easier to learn when you can't banish or summon things with a wave."

Hermione winced slightly, but then laughed. "I can't help it any more. Everything always has to be in order for my area of work. Now it's habit."

She shook Arthur's hand in welcome as she finished speaking, and then, flustered, hugged Ginny a little awkwardly, who returned the greeting, also awkwardly. Arthur, however, had moved over to the lamp and was examining the switch.

"Is this the sort that you twist or depress to turn the light on?" he asked, pushing gently at it. He was gratified when the bulb lit up brilliantly, and turned back to Hermione and Ginny beaming and blinking. "Ahh, I see. A lovely example."

Ginny smiled tolerantly at her father, but turned to Hermione and said, "Come on. Let's get your things before he decides to look at every piece of muggle invention in here."

Laughing, she and Hermione walked over to the trunk. Ginny looked at the trunk, with the symbols for Hogwarts and Gryffindor emblazoned across the lid, and gave Hermione a questioning glance.

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable, but merely said, "My clothes fit better in this than my other bags. I haven't traveled enough to need anything big…."

Ginny just nodded and helped her pick it up. "I hope it fits through your fireplace okay. It's kind of a squeeze. Oh well, I guess if we fit through, it will, too. But it isn't quite as flexible as I am."

Hermione started to giggle as she thought about the trunk flexing its sides to squeeze through the fireplace. Ginny began laughing also, and the two girls exchanged their first real smile. Ginny suddenly felt that Hermione might still be a good friend, despite having run off seven years ago, and Hermione felt a sudden lightness when she realized that the stiffness around Ginny's eyes had disappeared.

Arthur had pulled a battered paper bag out of his pocket, and offered it to Hermione.

"You first," he said, "Molly's waiting for you. We'll be right behind you."

"Just don't burn my apartment down after I leave," replied Hermione, still giggling slightly. She took a pinch of the green powder and threw it on the flames. Once they turned green, she stepped into them, calling out, "The Burrow!" and she began to spin.

She stepped out into the Weasley's parlour, and Molly was there waiting.

"Welcome home, Hermione," she said, stepping forward with a smile.

OOOOOOO

_A/N: Two kind betas have agreed to start helping me unmuddle this story. Whether it is muddled (yet) to the reader is unclear to me; what is clear is that it is very mixed up in my own mind. I was hoping to wait to post this chapter until after I had discussed things further with them. However, I was sent off to a work conference for a week (which is constituted not only of attending meetings all day, but also of _mingling_ in the evenings--so disrupting to my extracurricular activities, like making outlines to share with my new betas) and now I feel I've delayed too much, so I'm going to go ahead and post this. Anyway, even if I have to completely rework my first chapters, three will not be so much more work than two. _


End file.
